


An Unconventional Proposal

by shadhahvar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dance, Ballroom Dancing, Eventual Romance, First Dance, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Marriage of Convenience, Vicchan Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 11:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar
Summary: While studying and training in the United States, figure skater Yuuri Katsuki meets formerdanseurturned choreographer Victor Nikiforov through a writing club focused on English Language Learners. When Victor announces his expiring visa and likelihood of deportation, Yuuri is as surprised as the rest of their friends.When he makes a surprising proposal of his own to Victor, Yuuri embarks on a whirlwind series of lies about the romance he hasn't had, only to find that he might just be falling in love on the way to the alter. And he might be the only one.Loosely inspired byThe Proposal. Very, very loosely.





	An Unconventional Proposal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zupsgirl1 (Fraulein_Zupan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fraulein_Zupan/gifts).



> This is for Kim as part of a discord server exchange, Chihohohoko 2019! I tried to wrangle up a Rom-Com situation, and have it all planned out through the end... but to start out, here's chapter one. I hope you had a wonderful holiday season, and that you enjoy the nonsense of this story!
> 
> Tags will be updated as chapters are posted, and there's a decently high chance this story will veer into Mature to Explicit territory. Currently it's all Teen rated.
> 
> Noting a few things which are story-specific: 
> 
> In this AU, Yuuri's mother was an American born citizen, and he has Dual Citizenship through Hiroko. Japan also does not require their citizens to choose a singular citizenship at age 20, allowing Hiroko and her children to maintain their dual citizenship.

Yuuri Katsuki, male, twenty-three going on twenty-four, could not tell himself the moment when his life started going off the rails. Was it when he’d been six and stepped out onto the ice at the local skating rink, discovering the first love of his life? Was it when he sent out applications to universities in Japan that were partnered with ones in the United States, aiming to spend his time training there while attaining a University education? Was it the moment he landed wrong and felt his ankle give, then skated through to the end of the program and forced himself to finish out the next day of the competition? Was it the moment he finished rehabilitation, stepped back on the ice, and felt like he’d forgotten how to jump?

No, he would decide a veritable lifetime later, the moment his life truly started going off the rails was when he heard Victor Nikiforov, member of his shared English Language Learner’s Writing Club, announce with solemn finality that his visa was expiring. Because in that moment Yuuri bolted upright in his seat, thighs smacking into the table, and blurted out, “No, that can’t be!”

All seven members of the writing club in attendance stared at him, Phichit barely managing to hold back his laughter as the shock wore off, and Yuuri wanted to bury himself under the floorboards. Or throw himself out with the garbage. There had to be a rubbish bin large enough out back behind the cafe.

“I just, no one’s willing to sponsor you?” he said, sitting back down with his cheeks flaming red, embarrassment and mortification making him fidgety. While he was content to live with his one sided crush on Victor, an all too incredible, handsome, beautiful, _inspiring_ man, he did not generally like making it blatantly obvious to anyone else. No matter what Phichit said about it being apparent; Yuuri had no idea how that was the case, considering how often he swallowed his tongue and went stone faced when Victor so much as turned his way.

He kept his eyes trained on the table, hands firmly pressed into his lap and fiddling with the hem of his sweater. When he chanced to look up and across the table, he caught the flush of what must be shared mortification on Victor’s cheeks, and hated that even knowing it wasn’t a _good_ emotion, Victor looked enchanting when he blushed.

Yuuri slumped a little lower in his seat, only half hearing Victor’s reply.

“No, sadly. It’s harder these days for most companies to justify it, and where I work they don’t have the overhead to afford it. If it was last year, we would have been fine, but there’s been unexpected expenses, with the Director’s husband getting sick. I can’t hold it against them.” 

Christophe frowned, leveling a look at Victor that carried the weight of his concern. “What about a green card? No hope of applying for one of those and having it come through before your visa’s expired?”

Victor shook his head, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. “I’m still going to try, but between the cost and the current restrictions on who they’re accepting…” He trailed off, breathing out in a sigh. Still, he smiled, looking around the table. “I have a few other immigration lawyers to consult with, so I’ll see what they say. The woman I talked with today didn’t have high expectations without a company to sponsor my application.”

A chorus of _that’s unfair_ and _that sucks_ came from most everyone at the table, Yuuri biting his tongue in an effort not to passionately claim the same. It _wasn’t_ fair. Victor was a gifted artist. The United States should be holding on to people like him, people who held down jobs, earned decent money, paid taxes into a system that viewed them as an irritant to be tolerated, and made this whole country just a little bit better for the sheer sake of their existence within it.

Yuuri swallowed and looked away when Victor met his gaze, hoping he hadn’t just made it insufferably weird between them. 

No, none of this was fair at all.

—

One week later, Yuuri was still stewing over the great unfairness of Victor’s predicament and arriving at no real solutions. Or at least one actual solution, but it was far fetched enough he didn’t think it was practical outside of in his sleep-deprived delirium going over his master thesis. Or before he’d forced himself into his morning jog. Or before his second cup of caffeine in the mornings where he _didn’t_ manage to jog.

Or, as he was quickly finding out, when he was moderately tipsy at the dance club he and several other members of the writing club had chosen for their Saturday afternoon socialising.

“You know,” Yuuri said, enunciating with great care as he leaned into Victor’s personal space, his half full drink of Mysterious Ingredients (Chris had insisted on buying Yuuri this current round) clutched in hand, “You know, I have an answer. For a very important question, that you have to answer, so it can be an answer.” 

Victor, for reasons Yuuri did not question, wasn’t trying to escape as Yuuri swayed forward. He caught Yuuri’s shoulders and helped ensure he stayed upright, which was nice of him. Yuuri made a point of telling him so even as he set down his drink, managing not to slosh any of it on either of them or the table. For two seconds, that was the highlight of his night.

Then he was focused on Victor, hearing the music change songs behind him, and laughing as he picked out the tempo. “Victor, dance with me,” he said, and Victor laughed, taking Yuuri’s offered hand.

“If you insist.”

Yuuri beamed, keeping his eyes on Victor while he lead him out to the dance floor. He brushed by dancing bodies, people chasing their own rhythms, and he smiled, only seeing Victor. He tugged him closer, placing his free hand on Victor’s upper back, standing chest to chest for the combined two-four-count following the rabbit-fast hammering of Yuuri’s heart.

“Not like that,” he said, leaning in close to talk by Victor’s ear. Being heard over the throb of the music was of the utmost importance. “Like this.”

He led Victor into a promenade, stepping forward and surprising Victor into stepping back, the first movements stumbling and awkward. There was a flush stealing across Victor’s face even as he smiled, laughter catching in the back of his throat. “Really? Here?” he asked, and his eyes caught the light, sparkling as Yuuri simply answered with his body.

“Where else?”

A crowded dance floor was both the best and the worst place to attempt anything like ballroom, but the two of them managed, weaving between people who slowly stepped back to give them more and more room. Yuuri didn’t notice, so focused on Victor, on the surprise that graced his face as Yuuri kept up with him, pushed him to respond. Yuuri might not be skating competitively anymore (or at the moment, as Phichit liked to say: he wasn’t skating competitively _at the moment_ ), but a lifetime of ballroom and ballet as a means of expanding his repertoire meant he’d learned how to dance, and he enjoyed it now, with no expectations, nothing but the sheer joy of moving.

Victor grinned, challenge in his eyes as they switched leads, and Yuuri found himself just as swept up by Victor. He was spun out, following the movement and lifting his arms, remembering the dance and casting over his shoulder to see Victor doing the same, the two of them moving like they had danced like this together before. His grin turned fierce, a sense of pride and flash of desire to _prove_ himself something like Victor’s equal traveling down his nerves, electric and tingling and compelling.

He took the lead back from Victor, a negotiation finalised with a toss of Victor’s bangs and a step forward with Yuuri’s right foot. He could feel the song ending more than he could hear it, and on the parting notes, he prompted Victor for a spin. With his hand lingering on Victor’s upper back, he was ready with his arms to catch Victor when he slipped one arm over Yuuri’s shoulder. As natural as breathing, Yuuri’s arm was around Victor’s waist, his other arm thrown out with the dramatic flare their dance called for as he dipped Victor down toward the floor, the weight of Victor’s hand pressed flat against the nape of his neck.

He stared down at the exposed column of Victor’s throat, caught up in a brief temptation to dip his head down and press a kiss to the skin he found there. Instead, he brought Victor back up to his feet, swallowing and offering a smaller smile that slowly blossomed into something larger as Victor smiled back. Scattered applause broke out around them, their section of the dance floor cleared of competing bodies, all eyes turned their way.

The DJ gave them a call out as the next song started, and Yuuri licked his lips, realising belatedly he was still holding Victor’s waist as he started moving toward the fringes, intent on slaking at least one thirst. “I’m sorry,” he said, unwinding his arm from Victor’s waist, only to find Victor catching his hand and giving it a squeeze.

“For what? I haven’t had that much fun on a dance floor in who knows how long.”

Yuuri simply nodded, smiling dumbly, and mourned the loss of contact when Victor let go. They made it to the bar still walking side by side, and he’d forgotten the answer he’d had in the first place, his mind tripping over details and the intoxication of being this close to Victor, even as he feared he was moving far, far away.

It was that thought which swirled through his chest uneasily when Victor was tasked with making sure Yuuri got home safely. Phichit, the brilliant young man that he was, couldn’t pick him up from wherever his Uber left him; he was competing out of country. 

All that was fine as far as Yuuri was concerned. He didn’t mind Victor coaxing him down the road outside the club, or the ten minute wait time for their ride once they made it to the open stretch of sidewalk. The sign post by the curb was the perfect size for spinning, and with the world already gently spinning around him, who was he to resist going a little faster?

“Careful, Yuuri,” Victor said, and Yuuri smiled, happy and amused, hooking his arm around the pole and leaning out and away from it.

“Always am,” he said, “Careful like a baby bird. Or a puppy. Puppies are cute.” He giggled, and he never giggled. He _knew_ he was drunk, and while he probably should have felt bad about that, mostly he felt… happy. Then sad. Happy, because he was here with Victor, and Victor didn’t seem to hate him, and had even liked dancing with him tonight. Sad because Victor wasn’t staying, and it was unfair.

“So unfair,” he lamented, tears pricking hot at the corners of his eyes, and he clung to the pole, pressing the side of his face against the cold metal. It smelled horrible, like grease and iron shavings. For a moment, he was tempted to lick it and see if it tasted even worse. 

The moment passed.

“Yuuri, are you crying?” 

He heard an off note in Victor’s voice, but he didn’t look at him, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Is it warm out here, or is that me?”

“Honestly, I think it’s the alcohol.” Victor’s chuckle was strained. “The car should be here in a minute. Why don’t you let go of the pole now?”

What a novel idea. Yuuri let go, feeling the world sway with him, stumbling toward the curb. The car would be stopping there, so it made sense to wait where he’d have the shortest distance to move before sliding into the backseat.

“Oops,” he said as his foot slipped off the curb, flailing his arms as he started falling. A spike of panic at the thought of landing down hard on his bad ankle started his heart racing, but it never happened. Arms wrapped around his torso and pulled him back into a solid chest, his head thunking against a shoulder. Yuuri tipped his chin up, leaning into Victor, not even attempting to support his own weight.

“Hi,” he said, and he smiled before he frowned. “You caught me.”

“Hey.” Victor half-smiled, sparing him a glance as he braced himself to support Yuuri’s weight. “I did. Think you can stand on your own?” Victor rocked them forward gently, and Yuuri blinked up at him.

“You caught me,” he repeated, brain catching up with Victor’s words. Yuuri blushed, reclaiming his balance, standing ramrod straight and hunching his shoulders up toward his ears. No one was out there to catch him, he knew that. On the ice, there was only him, and he’d let himself down.

The grey sedan rolled up, characteristic sticker in the window identifying it as their uber. He was subdued the entire ride home, glad when Victor handled conversing with their driver. _It’s unfair_ , he thought to himself, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the cool window. The world was unfair, and it was up to them find a way through it regardless.

He opened his eyes, peering over the top of his glasses at the blur of lights from cars and buildings and streetlamps passed along the way. There were solutions, one for Victor, and a different one for Yuuri, if only he was brave enough to reach for it.

—

For his part, Victor had a better evening than he’d expected, and most all of it had to do with the man he was ushering up three flights of stairs toward his apartment. Yuuri Katsuki was reserved and focused, not prone to being as chatty as Chris or Phichit, but never aloof. He brought his graduate work with him after he started in his new program, not so long after he’d first joined the writing group two years ago. He was thoughtful, and curious, and misleadingly understated, allowing the bigger personalities to shine brighter without feeling a need to interject himself. 

Victor had taken all those things in, knowing he lacked a greater picture, and that’d been what he knew of Yuuri Katsuki, a man who listened intently when Victor spoke, but rarely conversed with Victor directly.

They trudged up the stairs, Victor keeping a hand out just in case Yuuri stumbled, and he marveled at what new things he’d learned in the last week. First, Yuuri’s outburst when Victor announced his visa woes. He’d never heard Yuuri raise his voice above conversational level before, let alone seen such an overflow of emotion. Yes, it’d been shock and surprise, but if he based his expectations on their prior interactions over the years, he wouldn’t have landed on that possibility.

Then tonight, Yuuri’s dark gaze and the challenge in his eyes as he invited Victor to the dance floor. Victor had talked about being a professional dancer, had made his move out of the performance sphere into choreography during the first year Yuuri was part of their group. It’d come up naturally, usually prompted by Chris in his lamentations and flirtations. Two years later and Chris was still trying to convince him to perform again, and Victor wished he felt the same drive as he used to, before he turned twenty-five.

Regardless, Victor’s familiarity with dance was well known, where-as Yuuri’s was not. Yuuri’s confidence pulled Victor in, the ease of his movement beautiful and breathtaking. Victor didn’t have to think about the way he responded, simply let Yuuri and the music guide him, and he’d laughed and smiled and challenged Yuuri in turn. It’d been fun. He’d felt so alive, and seeing Yuuri like that, living in his moment, changed the way Victor saw him.

Yuuri was passionate; Yuuri was a dancer. Yuuri had a confidence in his body that was well earned, and he challenged and rose to challenges with a kind of stubborn single-mindedness Victor hadn’t expected. The alcohol had helped get Yuuri past his usual reservations, but it hadn’t been alcohol that taught Yuuri how to move like that.

He had a beauty, an inner music Victor found taking him by surprise, and for the first time, he found himself regretting a future with someone he wouldn’t have a chance to explore, because in a little over six months, he’d be heading back to Russia. It wasn’t that long distance relationships didn’t work, but what kind of future would he have to offer? _Hey, I might have to be in Russia again for a few years, but you wouldn’t mind the long distance thing while you’re in your graduate program, right? I’m sure I can come visit when you’re back in Japan._

He closed his eyes, swallowing a sigh as they reached the third storey landing. One night was getting away from him, stoking the romantic that lived in his fairly practical heart. This, too, would pass.

“Looks like we’re here!” He shot Yuuri a pointedly cheerful smile, amused at the way Yuuri’s whole face frowned as he squared off with his front door. Phichit was out of town competing, and that thought pulled at Victor’s attention: he skated, didn’t he? How had Yuuri and Phichit ended up being roommates, living in this part of town, closer to the skating facilities than the university they both attended?

He didn’t have an answer, but he did have one gently swaying Yuuri patting down his pockets and muttering in Japanese. When he found his key, his expression didn’t clear up. Yuuri clenched it in his hand, staring at the lock, before he lifted his head and looked toward Victor.

“Will you come inside?”

Victor’s heart skipped a beat, his breath coming in shallow. He blinked, lips curling up into a smile by reflex, uncertain what Yuuri wanted to say, but certain what it wouldn’t be about. He wasn’t being invited in for coffee.

“Sure, I have time.”

—

They barely had their shoes off before Yuuri was stepping into slippers and shuffling for a closet, hanging his coat inside and reaching for a box on the upper shelf. Victor shrugged out of his own coat, draping it over an arm and watching Yuuri’s activity with a puzzled frown.

“I know I saw it in here…”

“Saw what?”

Yuuri didn’t even glance up, continuing to shove things around before he smiled, his whole face lighting up. He pulled out a spool of golden ribbon, keeping it in hand while shoving the box back into the closet. He gestured for Victor to come in further and then promptly disappeared into the kitchen area, drawers opening and closing as he hunted after who knew what.

Victor took the chance to look around, admiring the homey touches throughout the front rooms of the one bedroom apartment. An elaborate cage sat off to the left, near the window, coloured tubes attached to white wire frames and a large, translucent orange tub. Some kind of rodent was moving around in there, Victor drawn closer out of sheer curiosity.

There were a few posters on the wall, all of figure skaters, all male; he recognised Phichit in one, gearing up for some kind of jump. Another skater looked familiar, for all Victor hadn’t much followed the sport outside of his younger years. Dark hair, those intense eyebrows, the look of focus on the skater’s face. Almost like… but no.

He heard Yuuri shuffling up behind him, turning away from the poster with a question on his lips that flew right out of his head when he saw what Yuuri had in hand. A length of golden ribbon dangled between his fingers, and his eyes were bright, flicking from Victor’s face down to his hand. 

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri swallowed, reaching out for Victor’s hand. Victor let him have it, watching Yuuri as he draped the ribbon over Victor’s ring finger. He still didn’t understand as Yuuri’s fingers fumbled through tying the ribbon off, leaving Victor with a band of fabric gold over his right ring finger.

“I don’t want you to go,” Yuuri said, his palm pressed up against Victor’s, gently keeping hold of his hand. “You have a life and a career here, and the thought of you being taken away from all of that, I hate it. The thought of not getting to see you because of something stupid like this visa stuff, I can’t stand it.” 

Yuuri gave Victor’s hand a squeeze, lifting his eyes to lock gazes with Victor. 

“I know I’m nothing special, just an average guy from Japan, but if you can overlook that for a while…” Yuuri trailed off, swallowing, eyes flicking down to the ribbon and back to Victor’s face. “Victor Nikiforov, will you marry me?”

For a moment, he was too surprised to think, face blank in shock. When he opened his mouth to speak, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Did you just propose?”

Yuuri’s cheeks turned red, but he didn’t look away, hand shaking but keeping hold of Victor’s hand in turn. “I did,” he said, the confirmation hanging between them. 

Victor couldn’t quite process what was happening. “I thought you were Japanese,” he said, cursing himself a moment later and adding, “As in studying here abroad _from_ Japan.”

Yuuri scratched at his cheek with a self-conscious, apologetic smile. “I am. I have dual citizenship through my mother..” His hand fell away, hanging at his side, fingers pressed against his leg. Grounding himself for when he looked up and caught Victor’s gaze. “I know we don’t know each other well, and I’m just an average guy who can’t even promise to support you financially or anything-”

“Yuuri-”

“-and I’m not saying I need to, or you want me to, but I just. What you do here is amazing, Victor! I want to keep seeing your dancing and your choreography, and if this is my way of helping support that, then I want to. I want to do this.”

“Yuuri.” Victor held up his free hand, palm to Yuuri. He didn’t know if he should smile or laugh or cry; he didn’t know if he even felt any of those three things, the lingering shock muting all emotions. “I don’t know what to say.”

Yuuri’s face fell, and his gaze falling down between them, focused on the floor.

“Oh. I understand,” he said, starting to pull his hand away. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

“No, _Yuuri_.” Victor caught his hand before he could pull it fully away. “I’m surprised. I’m not saying no.”

Yuuri’s head came back up, his expression confused. “Then you’re saying yes?”

Victor squeezed his hand, tugging him a half step closer while he moved toward Yuuri. “I’m saying I need time to think. Are you sure about this? Don’t you want to marry for something more than…” Convenience? It wasn’t even convenient for Yuuri. “Something more like love?”

Yuuri swallowed, firming his shoulders. “Is that so entirely out of the question?”

Caught off guard, he could only shake his head, mute in his agreement.

He didn’t remember everything they said before he was stepping back out into the apartment hall, heading for the stairs. Only agreeing that he needed time, and putting Yuuri’s contact information into his phone. He wandered through a surreal haze of cold practicality and warm, bubbling hope, caught between the two and wondering, _what if_. 

He didn’t spend long with wondering on what if’s, not in his life. A what if was a decision already made, and he acknowledged that to himself when he stepped in the door and called for his poodle to come. The big brown dog pushed up from her bed and came trotting over, tail wagging in happy arcs behind her.

He crouched down, greeting his dog and allowing her to sniff and lick at his face without quite making contact, his fingers scruffing through her fur. The gold ribbon dangled there, tangling around his fingers, and he held up his hand to stare at it, wondering.

Not so much the what if as _what can I do._

The idea struck him as he took Makkachin out for her night walk, while he stood under the trees still clinging to the last of their autumn leaves. He called out encouragement to his dog, picking up after her and eager to get home while he still had hold of his inspired thoughts.

He didn’t know much about Yuuri, at least not in anything outside of his shared academic career and the new knowledge of his dancing, but it was never too late to start learning. Especially not when Yuuri was proposing marriage. 

He fed Makkachin, retreating to his sofa after, legs sprawled across the rest of the sofa seat. He pulled out his phone to search online while Makkachin jumped up and made a place for herself across his thighs. Yuuri’s roommate was a figure skater, and Yuuri moved like his body wrote music. There had to be something there, some connection Victor wasn’t seeing. He typed Yuuri Katsuki into the search bar, tapping enter, and waited as the page loaded.

A sense of wonder filled his chest as he scrolled down the first page of results, eyes flicking to the still frames on videos. He held his breath as he waited for the Wikipedia page to load, seeing the unmistakable profile of the man he’d spent the night dancing with loading on his screen.

_Yuuri Katsuki (勝生 勇利, Katsuki Yūri, born November 29, 1992) is a Japanese figure skater who competes in the men's singles discipline._

Down the rabbit hole he went, and the dawn came tumbling after.

**Author's Note:**

> This is approximately nothing like _The Proposal_ , except that in both, people are proposing marriage as a means of preventing deportation.


End file.
